


Patrols

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, A touch of infidelity, F/M, Fluff, Minor Romione, Smut, flangst, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Eighth year at Hogwarts is nothing like Hermione expected, especially the more time she is forced to spend with one, Draco Malfoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [DramioneFanfictionForum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramioneFanfictionForum/pseuds/DramioneFanfictionForum) in the [2019SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 

> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but are property of JKR And Warner Bros and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> The prompt for my story was "Feels so good being bad, there's no way I'm turning back..." from S&M by Rihanna.
> 
> I would like to thank my alpha and/or my beta, who shall remain nameless at this time, for their work.

  
  


Turning down the corridor, Hermione chewed on the side of her cheek as she peered in the open classrooms, twitching her wand in the direction of closed doors and levying bored sighs when even those yielded nothing of interest. It’s not that she _wanted_ to find something. Surely not. But it would certainly be something to spice up the last ninety minutes of insufferable silence she’d been sharing with Malfoy. 

The audacity of his presence at Hogwarts again bristled her fragile moral countenance. For Merlin’s sake, he’d let Death Eaters into the school not but two years ago.

Yet here he stood in all his brooding glory. He kept mostly to himself, his snide remarks missing their normal zing and somehow, felt more…  _ playful _ , if that was at all possible. Somehow, that enraged Hermione more. It would have been far easier to fight with him if he were still acting the fool he’d been sixth year. 

The final corridor led through the courtyard, and Hermione fought off a shiver, casting a quiet warming spell over her shoulders as their shoes clicked along the cobbled stone. 

Hogwarts had been rebuilt grandly; the courtyard now boasted a proud statue of Albus Dumbledore, gallantly lifting his wand towards the sky as his robes billowed behind him, and despite the impending Autumn chill, flowers remained under a lovely stasis charm year-round. 

The moon was full and glowing in the clear night sky, and if only she could but take a moment. There was a time in the very recent past when she’d thought she’d never have the chance to experience Hogwarts again—she’d been sure of it. Now, against all odds, here she stood. Her feet slowed of their own volition, her eyes catching over the columns at the starry skies. 

Malfoy paused as well, leaning on the opposite side of the pillar in all his smug indifference. This is why she was glad she came from humble beginnings; when you did, you had the opportunity to appreciate simple things in life. She sucked in a wispy breath as her fingers trailed on the smooth stone, and she perched on the ledge. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hermione said absently, momentarily forgetting exactly who she was spending her evening with. 

Draco snorted in response. 

“Never mind,” she huffed, rising to her feet and sweeping her hair from her shoulders. “Last hall, let’s go.” 

“What?” He chuckled. “You get your knickers wet for a full moon and I’m the tosser?”

Hermione’s jaw fell open, her lips popping as she stared at him. “You can’t talk to me like that!” 

Malfoy’s grin turned Cheshire and he peered down at her. “Like what?” 

“About the state of my knickers,” Hermione said with a tight jaw. “It’s crass. Besides that, it’s wholly untrue and just something you say to get a rise out of me, so I don’t appreciate it.” 

“Okay,” Malfoy acquiesced. “Tell me something that  _ is _ true about your knickers then?” At that, Hermione froze in her step. The blood drained from her face as she stared at him. “Are they black? Lacy?” Draco took a dangerous step into her; she could feel his breath fan over her face. “Are they those kind that ride deliciously halfway up your arse cheek just so us poor blokes might catch a peek—”

Without thinking, Hermione’s hand whipped across his face, and as his head snapped to the side, a rosy handprint appeared on his cheek. Hermione was panting, adrenaline and rage mixing in a fiery cocktail in her blood. 

When Draco returned his glare to her, his eyes tight and angry, she gulped. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for assaulting another student.” 

An indignant little huff slipped past Hermione’s lips, and she crossed her arms tightly under her breasts and jutted her left foot out. “Twenty-five from Slytherin for harassing another student.” 

“ _ Fifty _ points for—”

“ _ ‘Mione _ ?” A new, sleepy voice called from behind Draco’s shoulder. 

Hermione took a quick step back, the blush fading from her cheeks as she spotted Ron at the foot of Gryffindor Tower, hair disheveled and pyjama pants hanging low on his hips. He was wearing the shirt he’d insisted on buying in Australia, even though he had no idea who the band was, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile at her friend—well,  _ boyfriend _ . Merlin, that was still weird. 

“Ron?” She took a few steps past Malfoy, leaving him futilely rubbing his injured cheek. Hermione flexed her own fist a few times trying to banish the throbbing sting left behind. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Ron’s icy glare was trained over Hermione’s shoulder, staring daggers in Malfoy’s direction. “Everything okay here?”

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she messed with the hem of her skirt, not quite sure why she felt so embarrassed. “Of course.” 

“Well, it’s just that I told you I’d wait up for you. When you were a few minutes late, I thought I’d come check. Since you’re… you know… with Malfoy.” The blond made a disgruntled noise behind her. 

“Oh, yes. You know how he is. We’re all finished up for tonight.” Ron reached his palm for hers, and she felt a nervous flutter in belly, but not in that way that made girls keen… it was more like what she imagined kissing her brother would be like. But  _ no _ , she’d been in love with Ron for years. This was meant to be. She threaded her fingers with his and stood awkwardly at his side; Malfoy huffed and stormed past them, robes billowing after him. 

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew!” Malfoy growled over his shoulder, and Hermione simply bared her teeth. Bollocks. He’d got them there. 

“Honestly, can’t you get assigned to a different patrol partner? With everything that’s happened the last few years, you shouldn’t need to stay so bloody close to him. It’s not right.” 

Hermione offered him a half-smile and nodded. “Maybe. I’ll see if someone wants to change it up. Thursdays I’m with Neville, so that’ll be nice.”

Ron’s hand rested on the curve of her lower back stiffly, and his eyes darted away from hers as he mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, and they slipped up the stairs. 

* * *

This time Malfoy didn’t stay silent for nearly as long, much to Hermione’s displeasure. 

“I just don’t get it—” he began, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. 

“Yeah? Keep at it, Malfoy. I’m sure you’re bound to get that basic reading level up with a little hard work.” Her lips twitched in a smile as she pulled open a broom cupboard, deftly hitting the floor as a bat came flapping out, nearly slapping her in the forehead. “Bugger!”

Malfoy chuckled, seemingly unphased and held his palm out to her. She stared at his hand for a long moment, unsure if he was about to hex her with the other. After his head tilted to the side and he let out a snide breath, she took the gesture and rose ungracefully to her feet. 

They hadn’t spoken a word outside of their patrol the week prior, barely making eye contact, truthfully. Except for that one time outside the Great Hall when they’d nearly barrelled into each other and then continued on in a strange sidestep in the same direction… three times. Eventually, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her off her toes, depositing her outside of his path and continued on his merry way without nary a look back. 

Hermione had gone slack-jawed, her belly in a tangle of riotous nerves at having his hands on her in such a way. Heat had stained her cheeks, much as it did now, and once she’d made it halfway down the hall, she snuck a peek over her shoulder as Luna prattled on. She remembered vividly the hitch in her throat as she spotted his silver gaze also searching her out, and he turned, walking backward for a moment as he flicked his chin, tossing the hair from his eyes, and blew her a kiss and a wink. 

The prat was insufferable. 

“Yes,” he drawled, bringing her back to the present. “Because despite nearly besting you—”

“ _ Nearly _ being the operative word.”

“For the past seven years—”

“Only six,” she corrected haughtily. “We both were absent last year or else we wouldn’t be here now.” 

Malfoy let out an exaggerated sigh, dragging his palm down his face before trying again. “Despite all of that, I actually can read at an acceptable level, Granger. I’ll happily put my O.W.L.s up to yours any day.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, her lips curling in a grin she couldn’t help but hide. “I wouldn’t advise it. You’d just be second…  _ again _ .” She looked up at him, sticking the tip of her tongue out and scrunching up her nose in the most immature gesture she could think of. 

Malfoy deadpanned. “If you’d let me get my original thought out, you little swot, you’d find I was about to say that I was surprised you were dating Weasley.” 

Hermione’s heart stuttered and slammed around her chest in a violent protest to retreat from this conversation. “Why should that surprise you?” she asked, poorly feigning disinterest. 

“Uh, because he’s a loser—”

Against her volition, a chuckle slipped over her tongue, and her hand moved up to swat at his chest with the back of her hand, much as she would do with Harry or Ron when they were taking the mickey out of her. But before her hand made contact, his impossibly fast reflexes shot out and gripped her wrist, tugging her a step closer. Her breath caught in her throat as he leered down at her, his normally light grey stare darkened. 

“ _ Tsk, tsk, tsk. _ That would make it the  _ third _ time you’ve laid hands on me, Granger.” He pulled her a little closer until she could feel her breasts bumping into his chest, and she felt something quicken deep in her belly. “And if there’s a third, it better be in bed.” His thumb swiped at the pulse point on the underside of her wrist, and her gaze fell to his parted lips. 

The moment faded as his lips pulled up in his signature, smug smirk, and she yanked her hand out of his grasp and straightened her tidy robes. She blinked a few determined times and turned on her heel, staring a moment at the empty hall before remembering her route and charging towards it. 

“You  _ would _ like to be slapped around in bed, Malfoy.” This was dangerous territory, one that her entire body leaned into even though her mind kept yanking at the reigns. 

“And how would you presume to know that, Granger? Heard something you liked?” 

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pointed her wand in an empty classroom. “Of course not. It’s just obvious you’re a deviant.” 

That earned a bright peel of laughter, and Hermione balked over her shoulder at the wizard nearly doubled over. “Oh, Granger. You have absolutely no idea.” There was another brief respite of his grating voice after his laughter subsided, but it seemed he was relentless to drop the subject. “I just can’t see you and Weasley together. He’s so… so…”

“So  _ what _ ? Kind? Thoughtful? Handsome?” Hermione listed off the attributes that she was so desperately trying to convince herself of. “I can see why you’re insecure.” 

“Oh,  _ Merlin _ .” Malfoy took a few long strides to land in front of her, his hands curling around her forearms, and he shook her slightly. One hand came up to snap his fingers in front of her wide, confused eyes. “Have you been hexed? Love potion, probably. Maybe  _ Imperious _ , though I doubt the dolt would know how to cast anything past a big fat  _ Expelliarmous _ .” Malfoy rolled his eyes, and with a small giggle, Hermione continued past him, ignoring the searing feeling his fingertips left in their wake. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ron and I have always had this—” Her brain knew the word she was thinking, but it didn’t sound right, and it slipped over her tongue like vinegar. “ _ Chemistry _ .” 

That annoying laughter filled the hall again, and Draco paused to hunch over as his booming laugh faded in the night air. “Granger, that chemistry must really be something, because whatever it is, it’s turned your skin green, and you seem on the verge of vomiting.”

“ _ You _ couldn’t possibly understand, Malfoy.  _ Chemistry _ like Ron and I have, it’s… well, it’s once in a lifetime.” Her chin tilted proudly as she spoke even though the valley between her brows creased, and she grimaced slightly when he wasn't watching.

“Right. This _ ‘chemistry’ _ you speak of... I’m sure it’s something shared just between you and your beloved. It’s painfully obvious with the way he lets his food roll around his gaping mouth half-chewed as you stare at him with adoring disgust. Or maybe it was the other day when he snatched the book you were reading and held it over your head and made you hop around like a petulant child.” 

Hermione winced. That particular moment had actually made her quite cross with Ron, and he’d simply thrown a playful elbow into her gut after handing it back to her and disappeared down the hall with Seamus. Truthfully, Hermione knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t sure  _ how _ it was supposed to be, but surely not like this. 

There had been a hundred moments in her life when she wondered why she hadn’t been placed in Ravenclaw. She had all the correct attributes, the right temperament; still, the sorting hat had insisted she was Gryffindor. Now that Hermione had seen a little bit of the world and experienced things a little more fully, she got it. 

Hermione was someone that thrived on the rush. That surge of adrenaline when she climbed on an emaciated, barely freed dragon’s back after storming Gringotts. That flood of chaotic energy as she wielded spell after spell on a battlefield. That low, burning deep in her belly when Viktor had slid his hands over her body the summer after fifth. There was a call inside her that felt quieted now that the war had ended. 

She was marching blindly into a future with a half a dozen red-headed babies and an apron around her swollen belly and all with a boy she claimed she loved, even if she could at times barely stand him. But maybe… maybe that’s what love was supposed to be. It wasn’t sweeping romantic gestures and lust-filled trysts that left you panting— _ even if she wanted it to be _ . 

Hermione felt deflated as she and Malfoy paused at the courtyard again, staring at the waning moon in silence. Something about this place and the peace that settled over them made her speak to him as if he weren’t Malfoy, even if only for a moment. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Being back?”

Draco hummed his response from the far side of the pillar. 

Hermoine sat on the low-lying ledge, curling her feet under her. The crisp night air sent a chill through her, and she crossed her arms, rubbing absently at her forearms. “Nothing is like I thought it would be.” 

“Yeah, welcome to my life,” he drawled, moving around the pillar to sit across from her, pushing his fringe back and away from his eyes. 

A snide remark played on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She didn’t want to break the moment yet. “Are you glad you came back?” 

Malfoy shrugged. “It was this or a year in Azkaban—so, yeah. Glad I came back.”

When he’d been appointed a prefect upon entering their eighth year, the rest of them had nearly rioted. McGonagall in all her stoic wisdom had simply reminded them that in order to rise to the occasion, one must be given the opportunity. It seemed a bit of a stretch to her… after all, did he need to be given a prefects badge and no curfew?

“Is your boyfriend going to be waiting at the end of the hall for us to return? Scared I might steal you away in the dark of night or something?” Hermione’s eyes snapped to Malfoy’s and that  _ feeling _ returned. That shy little flutter whenever he touched her, even when he teased her or just—looked at her like this. His silver gaze was lidded, his brows arched up, and his posture relaxed. In these moments, it was easy to forget he was Malfoy. He was almost just… Draco.

Her lips quirked up, her nose scrunching just a touch. “Maybe.” Another long stretch of silence as Hermione rubbed at her arms, ignoring her partner’s stare as she did so. “Malfoy?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky.

“Do you  _ really  _ like to get slapped in bed? How on earth could you find that pleasurable?” She was half teasing, though honestly, she would like to know the answer at some point because it sounded quite awful. 

He barked out a laugh and stood, adjusting his robes and carding a hand through his hair. “Oh, Granger. You innocent little lion cub.” 

Hermoine’s brow furrowed, and she gulped, trying to swallow the flutter further down as she joined him in standing. “Guess that’s it for the night then? Goodnight, Malfoy.” She thrust her palm between them, and when he stared at her outstretched gesture and chuckled, mortification dripped over the length of her body. _ A handshake _ ? Merlin, Morgana, and all four founders, she was an absolute dolt. 

His cool touch wrapped around her hand, and he shook it once, his brows lowering as his thumb slid needlessly over the skin on top of her wrist. “Night, Granger. Tell Weasley I said hello.” 

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold crawled up her spine as Draco turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

In the last week, Hermione had gone out of her way to avoid any more interactions with Malfoy. It was almost as if she had a homing beacon out for that shock of blond hair and as soon as she caught even a glance of any shade of blond, she was darting in the opposite direction. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to see him because, honestly, she had. She found herself missing that flutter that appeared in his presence, but it simply wasn’t appropriate for him to be  _ touching _ her all the time. If she thought back on it, the touches had been really quite innocuous. A graze of a thumb here, a touch on her waist there. Yet each one was emblazoned in her memory, and it was stoked with a fire poker every time Ron’s clumsy touch bumped into her. 

Hermione stared down the hall, waiting for the familiar shock of platinum hair as the clock inched closer to ten o’clock. It surprised her that he wasn’t already waiting for her.

“Hi, Hermione!” 

Hermione jumped in her spot, turning wildly as her eyes caught on Padma clipping her cloak around her neck and smiling sweetly. “Padma? Something I can do for you?”

“Oh, I’m your patrol partner for the evening. Are you ready?” 

Hermione shook her head with a pitying smile gracing her features. “Sorry, you must have read the schedule wrong. I have patrol with Malfoy tonight. He’s just a bit late…” Her voice trailed off as she craned her neck down the dark corridor. 

Padma brows furrowed together as she stared back at Hermione. “He asked me to fill in. Said he wasn’t feeling well so we switched nights. Ernie and I usually start in the dungeons—”

A flash of annoyance filled Hermione’s chest, and she huffed a little indignant breath as she straightened her spine. “I’ll lead,” she responded stiffly and set off in the opposite direction of the dungeons even though that’s where she usually began as well. 

For the remaining two and a half hours, Padma prattled on about their assignments and other trivial gossip that Hermione didn’t give two figs about, and after they had finished patrolling the dungeons, Hermione’s steps slowed around the entrance to the Slytherin common room. 

“Everything okay, Hermione?” Padma asked, her chin tilting to one side. 

“Just fine. I need to speak to the Slytherin Prefects about something; you go on ahead.” Hermione’s heart was racing as Padma’s gaze tightened on her. Really, they shouldn’t separate, but although Hermione had declined the role of Head Girl, she still had an air of authority about her that Padma seemed to recognize. 

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hermione offered the Ravenclaw a tight smile and turned towards the entrance, levying a sigh of relief as she heard Padma's footsteps recede down the hall. She murmured the password to the Slytherin common room and stepped through as the door swung open. 

The inside of the Slytherin dormitory was the antithesis to the Gryffindor one. The lack of ambient light created a constant sense of darkness, even with the soft lights from the candles and fire. The furniture was much more formal as well, sofas covered in velvet and emerald tapestries hanging from the walls. Gryffindor’s furniture was overstuffed and lumpy, perfect to curl up in; this looked like they might be sitting down to formal tea. 

Several pairs of eyes studied her and after clearing her throat, she stepped up to a cluster of younger students. “Excuse me. Can you please go and get Draco Malfoy? Let him know Hermione Gr—”

“We know who you are,” the young boy said with a roll of his eyes, closing the book in his lap and rising to his feet. 

Hermione’s eyes tightened on him. “Right. Well, can you let him know I’m waiting in the hall for him?” She suppressed a shiver as she turned back towards the entry and stepped through yet again. Really, she needed to remember her cloak next time. The chill of autumn combined with the draft of the dungeon was going to make her ill. 

She took to pacing, rubbing her arms frantically to try and create a bit of heat. Honestly, how did these students manage it?

“Granger?” 

Hermione turned, her eyes rounding as she took in a very casual Draco Malfoy. His hair was tossed around, sticking up in every direction, and he wore only a thin white t-shirt and sleep trousers, hanging low on his hips. She gulped, her spine straightening as she tried to regain her composure. 

“Malfoy.” Her tone was clipped as she greeted him, and his mouth twitched up in amusement as she tore her eyes from his torso and back towards his face. “Where were you tonight?” 

Malfoy carded a hand through his unruly hair and took a step towards her, leaning against the cold stone wall and eyeing her with a pleasant scrunch to his features. “I was here.”

She bristled. “And why’s that?”

“Did you miss me, Granger?” There was a flash of something behind his pale eyes, and Hermione huffed an indignant breath and took a step closer to him. 

“Absolutely not! It’s just that—” Hermione hadn’t really thought much about what she should say next. Her mouth formed various shapes as one eye scrunched closed. “It’s just that you should have said something. If you don’t take your prefect duties seriously, well—”

Draco snorted. “Really, Granger? I had an assignment to finish for Flitwick by tomorrow. I switched to another day, and I only just managed to coerce Padma into accepting the trade.”

_ Coerced _ ? The word rubbed against Hermione like an annoying cat. What did that mean  _ exactly _ ? Padma hadn’t appeared to be the type to slag around just because a handsome Slytherin paid her any mind, but apparently—

“Are we done here, Granger? I was sleeping before you called me out here to interrogate me.” 

Hermione sucked in a breath. She had nothing left to say, yet she didn’t want to say goodnight. Even if all they had done was bicker. Even if all they  _ ever _ did was bicker. She crossed her arms across her chest, rubbing frantically at her arms again. 

“I guess so,” she said with a defeated shrug. “Goodnight, Malfoy.” Hermione turned back towards the stairs, but before she could take more than a step, long fingers curled around her elbow, pausing her midstep. She turned, finding Malfoy alarmingly close, the heat radiating from his chest—which was maddening as he was scarcely covered.

She was used to Malfoy’s stare feeling a certain way: cold, calculating, even. But there was a burning in his gaze as it roamed over her features, and her breath hitched as she took slow, deep lungfuls of air. 

“Why are you here, Granger?” Malfoy asked, his voice low and husky. 

For a moment, she let herself drink him in. The strong lines of his jaw and the blond stubble growing there. He was stupidly handsome, and she gulped as she remembered that he was waiting for an answer to a very simple question. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her lashes fluttering briefly. 

His gaze traveled to her parted lips, and Hermione felt a question buried in the movement. Malfoy’s face dipped just a breath closer, his fingers tightening on her arm. Panic and desire surged in her chest, and Hermione swore she could feel her heart slamming against her rib cage. 

His lips were so close she could almost taste him, and her eyes drifted closed as she took a small step into him, her breasts brushing against his chest. 

The door behind him swung open and the moment dissipated; Hermione shot back, her eyes flying open as she blinked reality back into view. 

“I— I’m sorry. I should go.” His jaw tightened, and he released her, his brow arching as she retreated. 

“Draco?” A feminine voice called from behind him, and Hermione peeked over his shoulder to see Pansy Parkinson, standing with a tight pull to her features and her hip jutted out. 

Hermione gulped, shaking her head free of the moment before. “Night, Malfoy.” 

“Night, Granger,” he called out after and she turned over her shoulder as she rounded the corner, her gaze catching on the ruffled Slytherin still standing and watching her fade away. 

* * *

Gryffindor, her arse. 

Bold and brave and adventurous? Sure. That’s why Hermione Granger currently ducking not one—oh no—but  _ two _ boys. One boy that she loved with all her heart, the boy she was—supposedly—destined to end up with, her very best friend. The other, however, infuriated her to no end, bullied her, and had a very kissable mouth that made her want to pull him in a broom closet and snog him senseless. 

For this reason, amongst others, she refused to walk the halls alone. She had Luna escort her after Charms and Harry after Potions. That left Neville and Ginny after Herbology and then, of course, she had an entire slew of people for her to cling to after Defense. 

However, Luna had come down with a case of the Wrackspurts or some other ridiculous thing and had promptly abandoned her. This left her clinging to the walls of the corridor, only to spot a shock of blond hair that left her ducking into a classroom. It turned out the hair had belonged to an uncommonly tall third year and was more of a strawberry blond than platinum… but better safe than sorry and all that. 

When Sunday rolled around and Hermione had not seen Ron for the entire weekend, she found that not only was it odd that she didn’t miss seeing her boyfriend but also that he had not sought her out. After all, Malfoy could be seen lurking in almost any given direction outside of Gryffindor Tower, so it seemed plausible that  _ maybe _ her boyfriend might do so as well. 

If Hermione was being honest with herself, which she always strived to be, she knew her and Ronald’s relationship was an epic bust. She had very little doubt that he felt the same way. 

The next few days passed uneventfully until it was the night of her shared patrol with Malfoy. It felt like someone had released a cage of pixies loose in her belly the way it rolled and rioted against her, and she let out a low sigh as a chill crept down the hall. 

As the sound of leather shoes slapped against the cobblestones, Hermione clenched her eyes shut. 

“Ready, Granger?” Malfoy’s voice was even and almost droll. She turned to him, her lips folded in on themselves as she appraised him; all seemed as it should be: perfectly pressed slacks, an emerald jumper with an unbuttoned Oxford underneath, hair perfectly disheveled with fringe hanging over his bored expression. 

She gulped and nodded, turning towards the dungeons without a word. 

They walked in silence for the better part of an hour, each one taking turns opening the doors on their side of the hall. Despite how long the silence stretched on, it did nothing to quell the nerves in her belly. Truthfully, it may have made them worse. 

There had been at least a dozen times that she’d opened her mouth to remark on… well, anything, really… and the words died in her throat. She seriously considered insulting him just to get the ball rolling, but that felt like a monumental step backward. 

She, of course, forgot her cloak again and spent most of the walk rubbing her arms and casting warming charms that waned as soon as she lost her concentration. There was a soft grumble from beside her, and Malfoy lifted one arm over his head and easily slid his jumper from his body, unceremoniously tossing it at the side of her head. 

“Excuse me?” She scoffed, wadding it in a tight ball and ready to toss it back at him. 

“I’m sick of you treating your body like kindling, Granger. It’s annoying as fuck. Take the jumper and remember your bloody own next time.” As he spoke, he held an air of indifference mixed with mild annoyance, rolling the sleeves of his Oxford up his forearms as if bored. 

It set her blood on fire, metaphorically. Because literally, she was still quite chilly and there was something about the smell of spearmint and linen lingering to the fabric that drew her in. Still, she scowled as she pulled it over her head. 

As they continued their walk, she ignored the muscle on his forearm tensing as he checked the doors and instead focused on the intoxicating scent of his jumper. Without thought, she covered her hand in the excess material and pulled it up to her mouth, breathing in the surprisingly delicious smell of Draco Malfoy. However, as always, Malfoy ruined it. He ruined it this time in particular by smirking, and she dropped her hand and, in a brilliant show of maturity, stuck her tongue out at him. 

They rounded the corner on the fifth floor near Ravenclaw Tower, and Hermione pulled open a broom closet, nearly shutting it again without having a proper look inside.  _ Nearly _ , because the guttural noises coming from inside caused her to pause. 

She opened it wider and felt Malfoy at her back as they peered into the closet. Hermione’s mouth fell open as she watched the young couple rutting together, the girl’s skirt hiked up around her hips as the boy shoved into her again and again, unaware of their audience. 

It had been nearly thirty seconds by the time the couple noticed the two Prefects gaping at them with slack jaws, and the boy with his prick out cursed, trying in vain to right their clothes as Hermione slammed the door shut and let out a loud bark of a laugh. Clamping her hand over her mouth before she could unravel in a fit of giggles, her other hand twisted in Malfoy’s shirt and dragged him a few paces down the hall where she pulled them into an empty classroom. 

Once behind the safety of the closed door, Hermione fell apart. Her back rested against the wooden door as she tore a stitch in her side from laughing loudly; Draco surprised her by joining her. Deep belly laughs echoed off the stone wall as she hugged her abdomen. She probably should go back and take points and see them back to their dormitories—that was the point of the patrol, after all—but as their laughter died away, she simply rested her head back against the door. 

The final hollow laugh worked its way past her lips, and she rolled her head towards him. Her breath hitched as she found him already staring at her, that same dark and dangerous expression in his eyes from the week prior in the dungeon. Her lips parted, about to say something—

But he was faster. 

His lips crashed against hers, and she found herself arching into his touch, desperate for more of it as his tongue demanded entrance to her mouth. Hermione’s lips parted, and she sucked in a loud gasp as his hands traveled the length of her body, grabbing fistfuls of her arse as he pressed her into the door with the length of his body. Their tongues brushed together firmly, and in a moment of brazen boldness, she pulled back to nip at the fullness of his lower lip. The gesture earned a growl from him as he pushed his erection into her hip, and her head fell back, lust coursing through her blood as he moved against her. 

Malfoy’s kiss travelled across her jaw and then down the taut column of her throat, and she whimpered as he sucked the soft spot just above her clavicle. Her own hands were hanging lamely at her side, and she realized what an ill use of them it was; she curled her fingers around the trim curve of his hips and pulled him harder into her, earning another muted growl against her skin. 

When his hand skirted up her torso, sliding under the borrowed jumper and tracing the curve of her breast, her hands continued to move up his body and tangled in his sugar-soft hair and her back arched into him.

“Malfoy, we sh—” the word died on her lips as his tongue laved against the love bite he left on her neck. “We shouldn’t. This… this is very bad.” She moaned as his hand filled with the weight of her breast, his thumb sliding lazily across her pebbled nipple. 

He grinned against her neck. “It feels good to be bad every once in awhile, Granger.” One of his hands left her shirt, traveling towards the apex of her thighs and her face screwed up as a particular ginger-haired boy crossed her consciousness. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” she groaned, equal parts exasperation and want, as his hand curled around her covered mound, and the delicate pressure sent her spiraling. “I— we can’t.” 

His teeth dragged along the tendon in her throat, one finger pressing against her opening, and she swore he could feel her heat through the layers she wore. 

She almost said bugger it. She really almost did. But Ron…

“Malfoy,” she said firmly. “Malfoy, stop.” 

Every inch of him froze, and he took a quick step back, his gaze traveling her swollen lips and heaving chest. 

“I— I’m with Ron still. I can’t… not until—” 

His hand flew up to stop her, his lip curling in a sneer. “Don’t.”

The look on his face left her feeling like she’d been punched in the gut. “Malfoy—” 

His entire demeanor shifted, a cold facade settling over his features. “Move, Granger.” 

Hermione tugged on the sleeve of his jumper, feeling the heat from her need draining from her body as she took a step closer to him. “It’s just complicated is all, Malfoy. I need to—”

“Say no more, Granger. My fault—misread the situation entirely.” His silver gaze tightened on her once more, and his hand found the door handle, ripping it open even as it bumped into her. She huffed as he grumbled, “ _ Clearly _ ,” and stormed from the room without a glance back. 

She followed him out, staring at him as he retreated towards the Dungeons and let out a heavy breath. One thing she knew for sure was if that was being bad? She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to turn back. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Gryffindor Tower was quiet as she exited the stairwell. Unwelcomed emotions coursed through her: a volatile emotion of disappointment and shame that settled in the pit of her belly like a rock. 

“‘Mione?” Ron’s quiet voice sounded from near the fire, and she turned wildly, guilt painting her cheeks. 

“Oh, didn’t realize you were up.” Hermione smiled tightly, pulling the sleeves of Malfoy’s jumper down to cover her hands. 

Ron rubbed his sleepy eyes and shifted on the couch, an uncomfortable grimace pulling at his features. “Do you want to talk a minute?”

“Sure.” Lips folding into a tight smile, Hermione sat on the far side of the couch he was perched on. She wasn’t sure if it was more uncomfortable that it was her first reaction to settle beyond arm’s reach or that he didn’t seem to care. 

The stretch of weighted silence felt almost painful the longer it wore on and in a quick flash, it seemed as though they’d both had enough. 

“Listen, ‘Mione… I think we should break—” he said, just as she blurted,“ _ I kissed Malfoy _ —”

Both of their gazes snapped to the other’s, and they shared in tandem, “ _ What!” _

“You did what,  _ exactly _ ?” Ron’s hands tightened into fists. “Kissed that ferret faced fuck…”

At first, Hermione’s jaw gaped open, and she blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “You’re—” Her brows furrowed. “You’re breaking up with me?”

It was completely ridiculous that she would care, of course. She knew that.  _ She knew it.  _ But in whatever reality that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger broke up, she didn’t imagine it’d be him to do it to her. The hit to her ego stung more than the truth of it. 

“Well—” Ron’s blue eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Despite the fact you just fucking  _ cheated on me _ , yes.” His fingers threaded through his unruly hair, and he loosened a tight breath, his face screwing up in anguish. “Not that I think you’re surprised in the slightest. We both know it’s not supposed to—” He paused, his shoulders hunching. “It shouldn’t feel like this is all I’m saying.”

Hermione had found over the years that there were several cracks in her heart—it was bound to happen after the emotional bludgeoning by sludge hammer she exposed it to. But as he spoke, one of those pieces wiggled free and died away. No longer a stabbing shard, it instead an open space for something new. She felt…  _ lighter. _

That didn’t stop tears from sliding down her freckled cheeks. Ron’s lips curled in a lopsided smile, and he opened his arms to her; she wasted no time in sliding into the proferred space. “We weren’t supposed to end up like this,” she said through broken breaths. “I’m—” Her voice cracked. “I’m just so sorry.”

His lips pressed hard into her curls, and his thick arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry too. Not that  _ I _ cheated on you—” His voice was playful enough that Hermione felt alright throwing a jab into his ribs with her elbow, and she reveled in the vibration of his chuckle. “I don’t blame you, ‘Mione. Although— really?  _ Malfoy _ ?”

Hermione groaned, sitting up straight and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t get me started. I know it’s bloody ridiculous— _ Malfoy. _ ”

“He’s a git. You know that, right?”

Hermione chuckled. “Yeah.” 

Ron’s eyes softened, and his hand rested lightly on her knee. “We’ll always be friends. And not in that bullshite way, yeah? You’ll always be my girl—even if you’re not  _ my _ girl.”

Letting go of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding onto, Hermione let her shoulders sag. “Of course. I can lose you as a boyfriend—you were really quite awful at it—but never as my friend.” She settled into the nook under his arm one more time and squeezed him tightly. 

Despite the fact that there was still a temperamental Slytherin to deal with, Hermione felt lighter than she had in months, and she even allowed herself a small grin as she hugged her friend. 

* * *

Hermione’s heart was practically vibrating in her chest as she entered the Great Hall. Her eyes immediately flew to the Slytherin table, scanning it for the familiar shock of blond and finding none. She tried to ignore the disappointment flooding her system as she made her way towards her friends and fell into the seat next to Ginny. 

“You okay, Hermione?” the redhead asked, biting into a slice of toast. 

That dreaded pit in her stomach tangled further, and she reached for a muffin with a tight smile. “Fine, Gin. Thanks.” 

Breakfast went by quickly, and luckily Hermione found it easy to ignore the mindless chatter around her as she thought more about the situation with Malfoy. It was quite ridiculous that she snogged him in the first place, but the residual feelings coursing through her were another beast altogether. 

“I’m off!” Ginny announced, draining her pumpkin juice and wiping her lips with her sleeve in true Weasley fashion. “Flitwick will have my ears if I’m late again. See you!” 

With a wrinkle of her nose, she bid Ginny farewell and stabbed a breakfast potato as though it had personally offended her. Ron cleared his throat and slid down the bench towards her, and she stiffened slightly. Things were… well, they were fine. But it was still a bit awkward if she were honest. 

“Morning,” he said with a smile, resting his cheek in his palm. “Are things are okay with us?”

Hermione gulped at her tea, nearly scalding her tongue, just for something to occupy her mouth. She nodded enthusiastically. “‘Course! Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, I was just hoping you could help me with my Arithmancy essay...” Ron’s face flushed a light pink, and Hermione was so surprised by the innocent question that her head fell back a loud laugh erupted from her chest. 

“Sure, Ron. Maybe later after—”

“Oi!” Ron nudged her hard in her side and jerked his chin towards the front door. “Your new boyfriend looks a bit pissed. Wonder how he’d feel if I just…” Ron threw a lazy arm over her shoulder and smirked over her shoulder. 

Horrified, Hermoine turned. Her heart sank like a rock in her belly when her eyes landed on Malfoy, his jaw tight as he stared at them. The Slytherin turned on his heel and stormed right back out, robes billowing behind him. 

With a hard jab to Ron’s side, she shoved his arm off her and stood. She ought to chastise him, but Hermione knew when she was wasting precious breath and instead snatched her book bag up and stuck her tongue out, a fierce show of her immaturity. 

Lightly jogging, she quickly caught up to Malfoy, and she reached for him. He was quick to drag his arm from her reach and turned back so that she bumped into his chest with a mumbled  _ oof. _

“Hey,” she said, smiling shyly. “I was hoping to see you this morning. I wanted to talk to you—”

“No explanation necessary, Granger. Last night... well, it is what it is.” Malfoy’s eyes tightened. “Best we forget all about it.” 

“ _ Is what it is,”  _ she quoted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It was a mistake; that’s what it is.” Malfoy snorted, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “In what world would the two us ever have a snog? It’s fucking preposterous.” 

Hermione’s head cocked back as though she’d been slapped, and she couldn’t help the unsettling hurt twisting in her chest. “Is that so?” 

The sharp point in this throat rose and fell as he swallowed tightly. “Probably best if we were assigned new patrol partners. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend up in arms just because his girlfriend couldn’t help slumming it with the Slytherin.” 

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You can cut it with the brooding self-loathing at any time, Malfoy. It’s not half as attractive as you think it is.” 

Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes. “This is done. Not that it was ever anything to begin with, but go ahead and mark bad-boy Death Eater off your list of poor sods to snog in empty classrooms. You can scurry back to the good guys, pop out your Weasel pups, and forget my existence entirely. I know the latter is what I intend to do about you.” 

Her stomach churned as he spoke, watching as the soft grey of his eyes turned to hard-polished silver. He didn’t give her the chance at a rebuttal, though she wasn’t sure she had on in the first place; he was gone and turning down the corridor before she could manage a few blinks. 

* * *

A week passed, and all was as it should be. Nothing much changed between herself and Ron, except now she was exempt from an awkward kiss goodnight and holding his sweaty palm between classes; other than that, life resumed as if the clandestine snog and her brief time as Ron’s girlfriend had never existed. 

Sitting in the same classroom with Malfoy proved to be a chore. He was absolutely adept at ignoring her existence, just as he’d warned. But she found herself failing spectacularly at ignoring his. 

She knew how he tasted now. Knew how it felt to have his hands run the length of her thigh and how the hard planes of his body pressed against her. More importantly, she knew that he wasn’t the utter and complete prat he pretended to be—well, he  _ was _ still a prat. Just not utterly or completely. She also knew that his jumper still smelled like it’d been freshly laundered and had a hint of cologne she found intoxicating and that his laugh, his real laugh, and not his snicker, made her stomach flop. 

And for all these reasons—and more—it was entirely impossible for her to return to the time before The Snog (as she’d so cleverly dubbed it). Which made it infuriating that he seemed to do so effortlessly. 

From her vantage point in Potions, she could make out the sharp line of his jaw and the perpetual stubble he seemed to be letting grow there. She knew she was looking too often, her eyes finding him every few minutes but she felt  _ drawn _ to him. And when, from the corner of his eyes, she noticed his gaze flicker over to her and then a light blush stain his cheeks, she knew that it was time to call on the courage bestowed upon her house. 

There was absolutely no way she was going back. She just had to make him see it too. 

* * *

Gods, she hated the Dungeons. Had she not previously mentioned that yet? And for another thing,  _ where in the bloody hell was everyone? _

She’d been hiding under Harry’s cloak outside the Slytherin common room for the better part of an hour and no one had come or gone the entire time. On more than one occasion, she was tempted to open the damned door herself, but the odds she would garner a few suspicious looks seemed too great. After all, despite the many oddities of Hogwarts, common room normally doors didn’t open of their own volition. 

This had not been her only choice to trap Malfoy alone for long enough to make him listen, but it had certainly been the most Gryffindor, and for that reason alone, she chose it. Now, if someone would just open the bloody—

The door swung open, and Theo Nott was tugging Daphne Greengrass into the hall, quieted giggles floating through the air as they disappeared into a broom closet. Hermione’s features flattened in annoyance at their disregard for school policy, fully aware of the irony that she was sneaking into the Slytherin boys dormitory and, in doing so, Draco Malfoy’s bed. 

Before she had a chance to let her ire fully take over, she dipped quickly inside the door and past the bustle of the Slytherin common room. She wasn’t exactly sure which room had the eighth year boys but as she sat there chewing on her lip, fate intervened. 

From what she assumed to be the boy's bathroom, Malfoy emerged, his towel slung low on his naked body and water dripping down his torso. She froze. Fear and lust and adrenaline coursed freely through her system, and she almost forgot she was meant to be following him. Rushing down the hall, she snuck in just as the door swung closed behind him. 

The room had three beds, all identical to the ones in Gryffindor Tower except for the color of the tapestries and on the far bed, Blaise Zabini lay perched with a dirty witch magazine obscuring his face. 

Malfoy moved quietly to the wardrobe and without a shred of hesitation or self-doubt, dropped his towel to the floor and shrugged on his boxer-briefs. Hermione’s eyes bulged out of her head, and she had to force herself not to ogle the man like the perverted deviant she so clearly was. She just needed to figure out which was bed was his so she could safely hide. 

“You want to go to the Ravenclaw party tonight?” Blaise called, turning his magazine on its side to get a better look at the centrefold. “I bet that seventh year will give it up easy; she’s been eyeing you for a month.” 

“Nah,” Malfoy said, turning and leaning on the wardrobe. He still hadn’t dressed past his undergarments, and he ran the previously discarded towel over his wet locks. “Just gonna stay in.” 

Blaise let out an exasperated groan, closed his filthy periodical, and tossed it on the end of his bed. “C’mon, mate. You gonna let Granger cockblock you forever?” If they hadn’t previously been aware of her presence, they must be now. Surely they could hear the thudding of her heart against her ribs. “If she wants to settle for that ginger twat, what can you do? Might as well let that little Ravenclaw suck you silly.” 

Draco snorted and threw his towel in the trunk at the end of the middle bed, and that was all she needed to know. She moved as quietly as possible, watching each step meticulously as she made her way towards his bed and sat at the foot of the mattress. Blaise seemed to sense something, his eyes narrowing in her general direction. “It’s nothing to do with Granger and all to do with the lameness of Ravenclaw’s parties. They were having a book discussion over a glass of red wine last time—I’ll pass. I’m knackered; you have fun.”

Rolling his eyes, Blaise settled back onto his pillows and closed his eyes. “You’re a bore lately, Malfoy. Have I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy my time off the scene,” Malfoy said with a smirk as he fell back on the mattress. Once he was laid out, his hands tucked behind his head, he muttered a spell until the tapestries fell around the four sides, and Hermione felt dangerously close to vomiting from nerves. 

She allowed herself a brief moment to appreciate his nearly naked body, the long lean muscles of his torso and the curve of his bicep. He was breathtaking.

With a fortifying breath, she muttered a silencing spell, and Malfoy’s eyes shot open. 

“Don’t overreact,” she mumbled, still shrouded by her cloak. He scrambled under his pillow for his wand and pushed up until he was seated, his wand directed square in her face. With a groan, she dropped the invisibility cloak and let it pool around her folded legs, offering him a withering glare. “You are absolutely overreacting, which is what I just told you not to do.” 

Malfoy flailed spectacularly, pressing himself against his pillows with round, horrified eyes. “ _ Granger _ ?” he hissed, his voice a low whisper. “What in the bloody hell—”

“I’ve silenced it, you can speak normally,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I just—” A blush climbed up her throat and stained her cheeks. “You wouldn’t talk to me.” 

At that, he dropped his wand and his shoulders hunched. “Merlin's sack, Granger. I’m fucking naked. You couldn’t figure something else out other than breaking and entering?” He made no move to cover himself; instead, she swore she saw the muscles of his abdomen flex, and she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips. 

“Well, I’m not usually one for theatrics, but you were being annoying. And I didn’t expect you to be in your pants... who takes showers at night?”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped. “ _ Who breaks into someone else’s dormitories and waits in their bed because they can’t respect someone else’s request to be left the bloody hell alone?” _

With a slight tilt of her chin, Hermione spoke down her nose at him and shrugged. “I don’t think you want to be left alone. Certainly not by me.” 

His lip curled derisively, and he snorted. “I assure you I do. Put your little cloak on and go out the way you came in so I can sleep.” 

Hermione shook her head no ,and in a rush of unsolicited courage, she climbed up towards him, even as he flattened against the headboard to keep his space. 

“Granger, what in the fuck—” 

She tossed one knee over his far hip and settled in his lap, crossing her arms across her chest and raising a condescending brow at him. “Well, you don’t get to make all the decisions here. And I’ve decided I don’t want space from you.” 

“Clearly.” His eyes narrowed into slits, and he jostled his hips in an attempt to dislodge her from his person. Steadying herself, her palms came down to rest on his shoulders, and their noses bumped. They both sucked in a shared breath, her chest heaving as she stared at his parted lips. “What would your  _ boyfriend _ think if he knew you were here.” 

Hermione gulped, flexing her fingers on thick muscle banding over his shoulders and shook her head again, her curls tickling her cheeks. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Haven’t for two weeks, actually.” Finally, his soft grey eyes lifted to meet hers, and something twisted delightfully deep in her belly as his hands rested on the junction of her hip. 

“ _ What?” _

“I ended things with him that night—” Malfoy’s fingers curled into her flesh. “Or maybe he did.” Hermione’s face screwed up, and she laughed lightly, tucking her chin into her chest. “Regardless, I told him what happened and that’s it. Back to friends, which wasn’t so difficult, it seems, since we were barely dating, to begin with. And I would have told you if you hadn’t been so bloody insufferable.” 

Malfoy’s hands slipped up her side and wound around her back, pulling her lightly into him. She could feel his awareness of her growing stiffly underneath her, and she ground lightly down on his lap, earning a soft, strangled noise from his parted lips. 

“This is a bad idea, Granger.  _ We _ are a bloody bad idea. A trainwreck of massive proportions. You’re intolerable on your best days and fucking maddening on your worst—” His mouth dipped closer to hers, and she could practically taste him. “You should go. You can go back and maybe take a stab at the other golden boy, make an honest go of having one of those poor sods who will buy you flowers and won’t fuck you into this mattress until your vision turns black.” His hips twitched into her, and her knickers moistened. “It'd be easy to forget—”

Hermione's hands slid up his shoulders, and she cradled the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “I don't want to forget, and I don’t want easy. I don’t want good. I want  _ you _ .” 

Malfoy growled as one hand tightened on her hip, rocking her forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest and his other hand tangled in her curls. He captured her mouth with his, lips moving hard and fast against hers, demanding entry to her mouth and tasting her like he was starved. He swallowed her moan as his hands roamed her body, yanking the hem of her shirt from the waistband of her skirt and, with a hard tug, ripped the buttons free, sending them flying over his mattress. 

She broke their kiss with a gasp, but he wasted not a moment, instead dropping his mouth to suck at her newly exposed breasts. “Malfoy! What on earth am I going to wear out of here?” 

His teeth grazed the swell of her breast as he grinned against her chest. “Bold of you to assume I’m letting you leave.” His hands moved to bunch her skirt up around her hips, and he rocked her back and forth on his cock. “I might just tie you up and have my way with you every night.” His tongue dragged down the valley between her breasts, and her head fell back, a low moan slipping over her tongue. 

She was lost in his touch and the friction between her legs, so much so that she didn’t realize that he’d undone the clasp of her bra and was currently slipping it from her shoulders. “That’d be a horrible idea… think of all the places you wouldn’t get to have me elsewhere.” His tongue rounded her nipple, and she gasped. “The Quidditch pitch after your game.” His fingers found her other nipple, rolling and pinching it as he laved at the other. “A broom closet between classes.” One hand filled with the dome of her arse and slipped closer towards the ache between her legs. “Merlin, the library… I want you to fuck me in the stacks, Malfoy.” 

His affections froze, and he pulled back, his eyes narrowing but his lips pulling in his telltale smirk. “Granger…” he purred. “Here I thought I was corrupting you, but it seems you have a secret kink.” 

“More than you know, Malfoy,” she grinned and covered his smirk with her kiss. “Now, didn’t you say something about fucking me into the mattress?” 

His hands slid under her skirt, and with a quick snap of his wrists, he tore away her knickers, tossing them to the side and then casting a quite  _ Evansco _ , banishing his own pants and leaving her soaked folds hugging the ridge of his cock. She whimpered at the sudden heat of him, her slick washing over her until she hunched against his chest. 

“I need to be inside you,” he whispered, his tongue and mouth leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach. With a flick of her wrists and a hand from him, he was poised at her entrance, her skirt still obscuring the view of where they were barely joined. 

Rocking forward a few times, she teased his tip and delighted when his muscles flexed and the veins in his throat protruded under his concentration. Without warning, she seated herself fully on his lap, crying out at the fullness as he buried his face in her cleavage. “Malfoy,” she whined, his hands filling and squeezing the thick of her arse and rocking her slightly on his cock. “Need to move…” 

His head fell back against the headboard, a lopsided smile in place. “I’m at your leisure, Granger.” His hands curled around the bone of her hip as she rocked and rutted against him.

“What in the fuck did I do so right…” he panted, biting his lip, “to get to see Hermione bloody Granger bouncing on my cock.” His words sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine, and she begged for  _ moremoremore _ until he was helping her, setting a punishing pace and thrusting up into her. It took only minutes until she was crashing, falling, unraveling on top of him. 

Spent, her back hunched, and she let out a breathy noise. “ _ Thank fuck _ ,” he growled and rolled her on her back, hitching her knee up on his hip and driving relentlessly into her. Every thrust earned another moan as she arched into his ministrations. “Gods, you’re so tight. Can’t...last…” His hips jerked and spasmed as he emptied inside her, releasing a pleasured groan against the crook of her neck. 

When he’d finished, his arms caged around her, and he released her knee, resting between her thighs and peppering kisses everywhere he could. Hermione trailed lazy routes down his muscled back with her fingers, keening in her post-orgasm flush. His mouth found her nipple again, running a flat tongue over her, earning a hiss. 

“I still maintain this is a bad idea,” he said, moving his kisses to her ribs and then the side of her breast. 

“That it very well may be, Malfoy. But a bad idea’s never stopped me before,” she said with a soft smile as his hand slid down her side and groped her arse for a countless time. “And besides, most of my bad ideas ended up turning out better than alright. It’ll be fine.” 

In a slow trail, his tongue dipped into her belly button and then down to her bony hip. “I’ll follow your reckless lead then, Granger.” His lips found her sex, kissing her once, twice, three times before dipping his tongue in her folds and burying himself between her thighs. 

If this was bad, she most definitely wasn’t going back. 

  
  
  



End file.
